


Cruel to be Kind

by Draycevixen



Series: Collection of POI fic by Draycevixen [45]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Community: picfor1000, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:24:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Picfor1000 challenge on livejournal, where you are assigned a photo prompt for which you have to a write a story exactly 1000 words long. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/dan65/2110529657/in/photostream/lightbox/">This was my prompt</a> (Link is to the original photographer's work)</p><p>Honest communication is not their forte.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cruel to be Kind

John shot the bastard who'd been aiming at Bear but by the time he'd disarmed him, Bear had disappeared from the snowy field. He was puzzled until Bear popped up over the rim of a ditch, letting loose with a distressed mix of barking and whimpering. 

Harold was lying in the bottom of the ditch, covered in blood. 

John felt like whimpering too as he scrambled down the slope, Bear only backing off far enough to give him room. Ecstatic to find a pulse, he managed to resist the overwhelming urge to pick Harold up off the ground, instead systematically checking him for the source of the blood. 

Harold's eyes shot open as he started struggling against John's hands. 

"Finch, it's me, calm down."

" _John._ " Harold blinked frantically against the dried blood covering his face, but he did stop struggling. "Love you... Sorry." Harold's body went limp. 

The five seconds it took to check Harold's pulse again, thready but there, were the longest five seconds of his life. 

He only started breathing properly again himself once he found the bullet crease. Scalp wounds bled profusely and could make you feel like you were dying but the wound had already begun to scab over. 

He reluctantly set Bear to guard Harold and went to get the truck. 

 

Harold woke up as he was carrying him into the cabin's bathroom. 

"Mr. Reese?"

John set him down on the edge of the heart-shaped bathtub and reached for the first aid kit he'd already brought in from the truck. "You were lucky, the bullet only creased you but I need to treat the wound."

Harold nodded then winced, steadying himself on the bathtub as John got to work. Harold really had been lucky as it didn't even need stitches. He cleaned it out, slathered it with antiseptic, secured it with butterfly strips and then stuck a dressing over it. 

"We should get you cleaned up." John started to reach for his tie but Harold stopped him. 

"I can manage." 

"Fair enough." John nodded at the other bag on the floor. "Clean clothes. Call me if you need me."

 

He was stoking the fire when Harold emerged from the bathroom dressed in camouflage sweats. The clothing options at the country store near the cabins had been limited but at least they fit well enough and were warm and blood-stain free. 

Harold stopped and stared at the four poster bed. "I thought the mirrored bathroom— where on earth are we, Mr. Reese?"

"Honeymoon cabin, gives us some privacy." He got up from the fireplace and crossed to the kitchenette. "If you're ready to eat, I've got takeout from the local diner warming in the oven."

"And when did you do all this?"

"While you were unconscious, Finch."

"Shouldn't we be getting back to the city?"

"It's dark and some of Morton's friends might still be out there. Sit." John didn't realize how forcefully he'd said that last word until he noticed Bear sit down sharply and he'd spoken in English. 

Harold sat. They couldn't even manage small talk over the mediocre fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans but at least Harold ate a decent amount of it. 

Harold finally murmured "it's good" over the apple pie which was but when John offered to make coffee Harold turned it down.

"I think I'll lie down, Mr. Reese." 

When John turned from putting the dishes in the sink he saw Harold eyeing the bed. 

"I'll sleep on the couch."

"No couch, Finch. It's a honeymoon cabin, huge bed, tiny loveseat. I'll sleep on the floor."

Harold's mouth firmed. "We could share the bed, if you don't—"

"I'll behave myself. I'll just use the bathroom first."

 

When he came back, the only light in the cabin was from the fire. He stripped down to his boxers and slid in, careful to keep his distance. 

There was a mirror suspended over the bed which, given the bathroom, shouldn't have surprised him but did. 

This was the third time he'd shared a bed with Harold but it was the first time since they'd had sex.

 

After he'd failed to stop the Kendrick boy from being killed, he'd been in Riley's crappy little apartment, mad with grief and clutching a half-full bottle of bourbon when Harold had found him. 

Harold had tried to speak but he'd stopped him by the simple expediency of kissing him. 

"Mr. Reese, _John_ , this isn't what you really want."

"Yes, it is." And he'd kissed him again, pulling Harold closer. "Please, make me forget."

Harold had taken him at his word, stripped him naked and slowly, oh so slowly, taken him apart with his clever mouth and fingers until he'd been bucking up against him, begging Harold to fuck him. Harold had added another finger and swallowed him down, throat working around him.

After, Harold had softly caressed him as he'd fell asleep, orgasm and bourbon a powerfully soporific combination. 

When John had woken up, he'd been alone. 

Harold had never even removed his jacket. 

 

They hadn't talked about it. There'd been a number and then another one and what was he going to say anyway? _Thanks for the great orgasm and by the way, I love you?_

It wasn't like Harold hadn't known how he felt. He'd proved that in the ditch.

"It occurs to me that you misunderstood me, John—"

Believing he was dying, Harold had kindly thrown John a bone, 'kindness' sometimes the greatest cruelty. "It's all right, Finch." It would have to be.

"—about sharing the bed. I wasn't... dreading a repetition of events in your apartment. I just thought you'd be more disconcerted by my earlier... revelation."

 _Mirror-Harold_ frowned down at him. _Mirror-John_ looked rightly confused.

"I wouldn't have burdened you with... if I hadn't thought— it was a momentary weakness. I'm sorry, John. I expect no reciprocity, I never have."

 _Mirror-John_ was smiling like an idiot. 

He turned to hover over Harold. "I've got all the reciprocity you can stand."


End file.
